The Diary of Christine Fonseca
by Isabelle Sumner
Summary: This diary is the property of Christine Johnsson Fonseca, and it is not to be read under any circumstances. In an attempt to survive this uneventful and boring town called "Los Angeles" that we are moving to I, Christine, shall document the daily life I carry here. But I seriously doubt I shall have much to write about... Disney's Zorro Diego/Zorro X OC
1. April - May 1818

THIS DIARY IS THE PROPERTY OF CHRISTINE JOHNSSON FONSECA:

 _April 15_ _th_ _, 1818_

It seems as if this family always has to go through some sort of hardship, and it has come to the point where I feel it is now unnecessary to even think about it anymore. I can't stand seeing everyone around me happy with life while we have to suffer, or I might have to correct myself, mother and I suffer while the rest of our new family is all smiles and laughs. It is not fair. This diary might be the only place where I can let lose all those feelings that grow inside me during the day, anger, grief and most of all, an unexplainable irritation toward my new step-sister Isabella.

Today mother married, again.

It is supposed to be a happy day, and for most I guess it was, mother seemed happy for once, my new father was almost unable to contain his glee and joy as they walked out of the church this sunny morning. All was good I suppose, aunt Mary was there, with Elizabeth and Jonathan, cousins I have gotten to know a lot better since father passed away last winter. Isabella was there, of course. Rodrigo, that is my step-father's name, had seen to it that most of his family was present, even if the journey was a very long one. People have come all the way from California just for this wedding.

Rodrigo Fonseca is from a very rich family with a proud lineage and the wedding was grand indeed, it was celebrated here, in Boston, because it had been here that he and mother had met on one of his business trips the winter my father died. Mr. Fonseca had of course given my mother some room to grieve although it was clear that he was enchanted by her to say the least. But a few months ago he came back and it was not long before he asked my mother to marry him, the inconsiderate bastard. I am even more ashamed to say that my mother accepted his proposal. I believe that she is not marrying for love or anything close to it, we have always been financially unstable and even more so after father died, it was by the grace of my aunt Mary and her husband George that we have managed to survive up until this point.

I suppose I'm saddened more than anything, this past year has not been kind on me or my mother, we have had to work for our living and my friends have all but left me, since I have no money that means no dowry and all eligible suitors have left me as well. It hurt especially bad to see Isabella flirt with Victor yesterday when I showed her around town, he was one of my suitors. To think that we were engaged at one point. It seems a lifetime ago.

 _April 16_ _th_ _, 1818_

I have always found packing a tedious task, and I will never get used to other people doing it for me. They never know where my things go, I have a special place for everything and it is even more tedious to have to repack everything when they have finally left me alone. Mr. Fonseca has half of his estate with him on this trip I'm sure, because both mother and I have at least five people waiting on us in the little town house Rodrigo has rented for the festivities.

Tomorrow we sail on the first ship to California, I leave this land that is so familiar to me, this state that I have never set foot outside, for a measly Spanish colony in the middle of no-where. I do not even speak Spanish, although both mother and Mr. Fonseca have insisted I start learning, and even oh so sweet Isabella has offered to teach me. I don't want to leave my country, I don't want to leave Boston and I most assuredly do not want to leave my run down home at the far end of my aunt's and her husband's vast estate. I will miss them, I will miss my cousins and I will miss the snow. Isabella told me that there is no snow in California, at least not where we are going. Up until now Mr. Fonseca and Isabella have been living in San Francisco, but they are moving to Los Angeles for the time being, Mr. Fonseca has bought a hacienda, a rancho that is, close to the town and will be setting up another trading route there. Isabella seems oddly exited to move to Los Angeles, which is a particularly small and boring town, as I understand it. But she keeps blabbering on about bandits and adventure there. I must mention my new sister, a young woman that irks me to no end. Might I be jealous of her? Maybe, she is indeed pretty and looks so exotic compared to me or any other young woman I have ever seen here in Boston. She has the darkest hair I have ever seen, darker than the blackest of nights in the middle of winter when not even the white snow is enough to light up the darkness. She has these brown, large eyes that look so understanding and friendly, while still she seems seductive, the gentlemen of the area can't get enough of her company. She has a small, delicate face and a petite figure. But I don't dislike her because of her appearance, I don't find that I am _that_ petty, although sometimes I wonder… I dislike her because of her naivety toward the world. She has never known hardships, real hunger or desperation. I bet she has always gotten whatever she wanted in life with the point of a finger. And what irks me the most is that even though she is this immensely spoiled child, she is kindhearted and treats me like I might actually be her sister. I hate myself for being so petty.

 _April 17_ _th_ _, 1818_

I barely got any sleep last night, I couldn't stop crying. Around midnight mother came into my chambers and sat on the bed and stroked my hair while I cried, we haven't had a moment like that for a while. She assured me that our new life in California would be easier, that Mr. Fonseca would take care for us now and that we never again had to worry about putting food on the table, or even starve.

One of the servants awoke me, she helped me get dressed, a task I can do perfectly well myself and it is something I have to enforce when we arrive in Los Angeles. They carried our trunks to the waiting carriage, it was still dark this morning when we rolled to the harbor, we boarded a grand ship and I took a moment to watch the sky as it lightened and saw the sun rise on the horizon, painting the clouds orange and pink and the sky a deep red, reflecting all the colors in the black ocean as the waves gently rippling in the breeze. This was my goodbye, in some way, I know that I will see the sunrise many more times, and I know that I will see the ocean as well, but it won't be the Atlantic ocean, but the Oceanic Sea, and it won't be the Boston skyline that the sun will illuminate but the Californian one. It is something I would rather not think about.

The rooms we have gotten are quite comfortable but by afternoon mother was already ill from all the rocking of the ship, earlier this night I felt it too, Captain Jones, a stout man in his late forties, only laughed and told us that we haven't gotten our sea legs yet.

 _April 28_ _th_ _, 1818_

I am sick of this ship, there is no point in writing in this blasted diary if the entries are going to be the same every day;

I wake up, I eat some breakfast, I take a stroll about the deck I read, I take a nap, I meet my family for lunch. Then I take another stroll around deck, I might have a conversation with the Captain, then there is yet another stroll, I have some dinner, I read some more, I go to bed.

This has been my routine for the past eleven days and to think that there is at least a month left to go on ship is breaking my spirits. Mr. Fonseca wanted to arrive in Los Angeles as soon as possible so we are sailing to Panama to cross the thin strip of land and on the other side there is another ship waiting for us, it will drop us off in the port of Los Angeles on its way to San Francisco. This way is seemingly shorter since we won't have to sail all the way down to Cape Horn. Mr. Fonseca also said it is quite dangerous going that way since the waters around the cape are infested with storms, strong enough to tear ships such as the one we are on apart.

 _May 15_ _th_ _, 1818_

We are days from Panama and it will be good to set foot on land again. For the past two weeks mother and I have been getting Spanish lessons from Isabella. Mother is a faster learner than I am and she can already have a basic conversation with Mr. Fonseca, but whenever I bring it up she only argues that I'm not trying hard enough, that I'm to prideful and won't allow myself to begin any type of conversation with Isabella. Isabella seeks me out now most of the days on the ship and has limited herself to only speak to me in Spanish, which I find very irritating indeed. I suspect she enjoys taunting me when I'm not able to respond back to what she is saying. At least now I can get a notion of what she is talking about. I know the standard verbs and their conjugations in simple times such as to be, to have, to eat or to live in past, present or future tense. Each day I have to learn ten new verbs, nouns and adjectives. Who knew Spanish was such a hard language to learn?

 _May 18_ _th_ _, 1818_

When I set foot on land today for the first time in a month I was about to cry out from joy, although mother warned me about my place. Isabella has been teaching us to behave as proper Spanish women, the social Spanish etiquette is so much more strict than what I am used to, there are so many formalities, for example, a man of high social standing, if he be a gentleman and have no title to his name as, for example, Count or Marquis, one has to place _Don_ before his name. So Mr. Fonseca is actually Don Rodrigo, or another acceptable appellation would be s _eñor_ Fonseca. Same goes for women. A woman who is married and of high social standing is called _Doña_ , or _señora_. So my mother is either _Doña_ Camillaor _señora_ Fonseca. But as for young unmarried women, such as me or Isabella, the only term that she said that everyone uses is _señorita_. My problem now is to figure out whom I can use these new appellations on and who I cannot. Because then there are a bunch of other terms that are used. But Isabella said that we would learn about it more when we got on the next boat. We have spent the whole day crossing Panama and late this night we have arrived in Panama City.

It is unbearably hot, I have only read about the tropical climate in books, I could never imagine it would be this sweaty and exhausting. There are currently a million mosquitoes drawn to the lit candle I am using to write. It might be best to put it out and write another day.

 _May 19_ _th_ _, 1818_

I leave this infernal place at last! Both mother and I are covered in tiny specks of mosquito bites and it looks like we were stricken by some illness of some sort. Isabella has some bites as well, but not to the extent mother and I have. Señor Fonseca seems to have avoided all the mosquitoes by some miraculous chance. I dearly hope there will be no mosquitoes or any other unwanted surprises in Los Angeles. We set sail early this morning and so begins another voyage by sea. This time the ship is smaller and I am forced to share my cabin with Isabella. She doesn't seem to mind it all that much, in fact, she sees it as an opportunity to practice some more Spanish with me. I wonder if I shall arrive sane to Los Angeles.

 _May 27_ _th_ _, 1818_

There seems to be another pace on this boat. It is a Spanish merchant ship and the Spaniards seems so different to what I am used to. The stereotype of not working hard and laying around having a siesta all the time could not be further from the truth. They seem happy, albeit not all of them as is to be expected, but rarely one day goes by where I do not see a smile upon their faces. I guess it is because the treatment they are given from their commander and captain. He is a gentle, younger man, about ten years my senior putting him at around thirty. He is enchanting and has Isabella cooing at him while he tells wild stories of Indians and bandidos of alta California. With me he doesn't tell those stories because I think he knows not to take me for a fool, although sometimes he looks at me with something akin to pity, and I cannot for the world of me know why he would pity me if he barely even knows me. Instead of telling tales of adventure he would sit down and talk about the politics of the land, the customs and the traditions, which has me more engaged. He talks about days of festivities, the difference between the American courtship and the Spanish one. I am wondering now more than ever what awaits in the untamed lands of California. If this is a glimpse of what is to come I don't know if I should be worried or exited.

 **A/N: I know what you are going to say, "wasn't Disney's Zorro set to begin in 1820?" Yes, yes it was and that is what irritates me most of all because the Mexican independence is one year later and as each season unfolds, assuming each season is a year, there is no mention of it from what I can gather. So let's just say for CONVENIENCE'S sake that everything that we have seen in the series has already happened, the Monastario timeline, the Eagle timeline, the Monterrey timeline etc. It just makes it easier to set it in 1818 for me. Thank you for reading and leave a review if you like (it sure encourages me hehe).**


	2. June I 1818

_June 10_ _th_ _, 1818_

I think it must have been around lunchtime, when señor Fonseca came and knocked on the cabin door. Isabella and I were eating while he told us that the coast of California was now visible. Isabella almost cast down her spoon and ran to the cabin doors and up the stairs to deck to get a better glimpse of her homeland. I stayed put, averting my gaze from señor Fonseca. It is all starting to become real to me now, that this is not some silly trip but that we are indeed moving across the continent, to the West, an unknown land with strange customs and perhaps stranger people. By the afternoon we were almost ready to dock and at nightfall an elegant black carriage stood waiting for us at the end of the harbor.

I haven't gotten to see much of the town that we rolled through. We had gone through customs right by the harbor and as we rode on I felt myself fall asleep, grateful for the absence of the rocking ship. The air was pleasantly warm while the breeze was refreshing, carrying with it the scents of stirred earth and dry leaves. At some point I am sure that I heard the rustling of leaves being stirred by the same gentle breeze that doesn't seem to settle down. I don't know how long it took to arrive at the hacienda but we finally got there, my mother awoke me and there by the gates was a lineup of what I guessed to be the servants of señor Fonseca.

Some faces were familiar from Boston, other I had never seen. I had only heard about Indians, they are almost nonexistent in Boston and starting to become scarce. So when I descended the carriage I got my first glimpse at an Indian, or I guessed her to be an Indian. It was an older woman, maybe twenty years my mother's senior. She was short and had a wrinkled face, akin to old leather, from being out too much in the sun. Her raven hair was as black as Isabella's and was tied in two separate pigtails, each resting on their respective shoulder. She bore beige, simple clothes and from the light of the lanterns I saw two black depths for eyes. I did not know what to think about the woman until she stared right at me, as if her eyes bore right into me, into my soul. I felt extremely uneasy and still do. I don't believe in such nonsense as magic, it is a silly notion that uneducated people follow, but in that moment, there was a feeling as if this woman held some unknown power. There was a moment of tension as the world stood still and she held her iron gaze fast on me, then she smiled, an impressive toothy, genuine smile that brushed off the unnerving tension I had felt seconds before. Of course my family did not notice this, señor Fonseca was talking to one of the servants, a taller, man in his late forties perhaps. Isabella told me and mother to come with her while some other servants started to unload our carriage. The Indian woman followed suit, keeping her head bowed down, as most of the other servants did. Isabella showed us to our respective rooms, mother would stay with señor Fonseca of course, in their vast chamber. The outlay of the house was unlike anything I had ever seen before. It was not as grand or vast as I had expected it to be, but it would nonetheless serve as a comfortable home, at least that is the impression I have. It gives off this sort of "welcome home" feeling as whenever I step a foot outside I am either in a patio, a garden or otherwise surrounded by plants and flowers, neatly kept as to not overgrow.

When stepping in through the gates there was a sort of miniature park taking us to the gates, but the park was the smallest one I had ever seen, no more than fifteen to twenty feet until we arrived at the front door of the house. The park was mostly barren of any grass, but it had bushes lining up the main walk to the door and grand trees to shadow the walk, probably to make it comfortable to get to the house during the hot days. The façade of the house showed two levels, the second level had a balcony, going along the whole side of the façade, making the front door be in shadow now at night and probably in shade during the day. Lining the house were neatly placed stones and beyond those flower bushes with white flowers filling the air with their fresh scent. Isabella waited patiently while one of the five or six servants that accompanied us opened the door for her, they were always keen that the little señorita never lifted a finger, who knew, maybe she was so fragile that even opening a door would make her fall apart from the strenuous task. We walked into a broad hallway that lead to what I suppose is some sort of dining room to the left, leading to a living room. To the right was a grand, staircase, made from a tanned stone and under it was a closed wooden door. Isabella showed us up the staircase and there was a long hall with doors to the right, we walked down the hall and took a left, there were two doors on the left side. The first door lead to her room and the second one was to be my room.

I was showed to my room, while Isabella took mother to hers. The old Indian woman followed me, I could feel her eyes on my back while she closed the doors behind us. The room was bigger than my last one had been. A few moonbeams lit up the room but the Indian woman lit a few candles so that we were not completely in the dark. To my right were a set of wardrobes and by those rested my only trunk that I had brought with me from Boston. I do not have many possessions left since father died as I had to sell most of it. Before me were windows and a door, probably leading to a balcony of some sorts, but I would inspect that in the morning as I felt how truly tired I was at that point. To my left was a large bed, although too small for two persons, it was too big for one. Under one of the windows was a table with a large window, no doubt for washing up and for applying cosmetics, if I had any.

I was very uncomfortable with this stranger in my room as she proceeded to open my trunk and unpack my belongings, searching for a night gown. She frowned a little when holding up the old thing, it was so worn out that it was torn in a few places and she remarked that I would have to get a new one. When I explained to her that I liked the nightgown I had just fine and that I could dress myself for the night she only frowned deeper and told me "Come come, niña, let me get you ready for the night" with such a determined tone that I did not dare utter another sound. I told her that at least give me some privacy for undressing, she took out a screen from the wardrobe and put it up in the middle of the room so that I might undress on the other side and change to new undergarments. I did, all the while blushing, thanking the lord that she could not see the rising crimson on my cheeks. After I was done she put back the screen and helped me get into the old, discolored nightgown. She told me to sit by the small table, in front of the mirror. I did as she obliged, of course, I would speak to señor Fonseca in the morning and request that I not have this strange woman waiting on me. She then proceeded to take out the pins holding my hair up. I could feel my eyelids get heavier by the minute and by some miraculous feat I got to the bed, the candles were blown out and I spent my first night in my bedroom, in California.

 _June 11_ _th_ _1818_

The same, fresh breeze that I had felt yesterday when we rode from the harbor to the house awoke me this morning. Someone had opened all windows in my room and placed a porcelain vase with fresh lilies on my dressing table. In the light of the morning sun I could finally see more of my room. The walls are painted white, the floors are wooden, the dressing table is white and the wardrobe a dark mahogany wooden color. There are few colors in my room, it is simple and I like that. The bed frame is the same color as the wardrobe. I might consider getting a carpet of some sort, it is the only thing I can think about when looking at the floor. I stared at the opened windows and door, curiosity winning, I got out of my warm bed and walked out on to the balcony. It was an impressive sight to take in, a bare, blue sky with no clouds as far as the eye could see. The terrain was a golden yellow as the grass of the vast fields had probably dried out from the heat of the scorching sun. There were trees, with their green crowns contrasting against the blue sky. It was the perfect mix between green, blue and gold, bringing me some sort of peace. Bellow was some sort of garden, well-kept and watered as flowers of many colors grew along the edges of a low whitewashed wall. There was no grass, only light tan earth tightly patted down. I saw a fountain, around which more flowers and plants grew, a few blossoming trees where some benches had been put under, to be kept in the shade.

That morning I did not do much, I got dressed and went down for breakfast, señor Fonseca and mother were already at the table. When I got my chance I asked señor Fonseca about the old Indian woman and how I could take care of myself, he brushed it off as nonsense, telling me how Guadalupe was a necessity, I was the stepdaughter of an hacendado and there was a protocol of etiquette to be followed here in California. A young woman of my standard should not be left to keep for herself, it was, as he put it unthinkable. When I told him I was more than capable to dress and undress myself he nearly choked on his coffee and told me to speak to Isabella about that matter, but that in the meantime Guadalupe would care for me and be with me to keep me company. I still see those dark eyes and can think of no worse company.

Isabella joined us a few moments later for breakfast. Later during the morning she showed us the rest of the hacienda while señor Fonseca went about his business. Isabella showed us the parlor, the gardens, the library, her father's study, a room for the three of us women to entertain if we did not wish to do so in the parlor, then the stables and the horses. She told us that we should pick out horses for our own as most californianos practically lived on horseback. I myself have never ridden a horse before and the mere thought of it makes me sick. I am willing to bet a small fortune that Isabella is splendid at is, this young prodigy, as they all make her out to be. She showed us her horse, a spirited mare, with wild eyes, a black flowing mane and silver coat. She showed us the horses that were domed and available for our choosing. Mother was interested in a beige colored mare with three white socks. I just picked the one that took my fancy, a golden colored horse with black mane and tail. I had no idea he was a stallion and a bit more spirited than my mother's horse. Isabella assured me that he was a good choice. We shall see though, for if he throws me off the first time I get on him I will most assuredly pick another horse.

The rest of the afternoon went by in a haze, we ate and had some Spanish lessons from Isabella. She told us that tomorrow we would ride into town so that we might know it as well, and she would introduce us to a few of her acquaintances. The evening I spotted Guadalupe once again and when I retired she was already waiting at the door with a smile on her face. I told her that her services were not needed, the woman did not listen of course. Maybe my Spanish was off, so I told her again and she only opened the door for me to get in, which I did. I undressed myself and watched in slight interest as she got out a bathtub, and started filling it with steaming buckets of hot water and told me to undress all the way and get in. I stood there in my undergarments a long while and stared back in shock, I told her that I would if she waited outside while I washed myself. Guadalupe frowned and muttered something in a language I could not understand, but I am sure it is not Spanish. She got out and I took a bath, something I had longed to do for quite some time. We could only wash with a towel on the ships from Boston.

I like baths mainly because whenever I take one they give me time to think and I have so much to analyze since arriving here. To say that California is a strange land is not an exaggeration. I know that there are many more strange customs that I will have to get used to but one thing I will not give up is my freedom and privacy. Not only does the close proximity of Guadalupe's presence unsettle me but the fact that she is to be with me at all hours whenever I leave the hacienda is absurd. I know I come from humble beginnings, father was never a rich man and even when we could afford a servant, mother and I never made her do such absurd things as dress or undress us because we know to be more than capable taking care of ourselves. And besides, even if I don't particularly like Guadalupe, not because she is an Indian but because she just unsettles me, I would never expect her to wait on me like I was a baby or an old crow, too old in fact to even be able to lift the spoon to her mouth. I know that tomorrow I shall have a word with Isabella about what exactly is to be Guadalupe's tasks when it comes to me in the future.

 _June 12_ _th_ _1818_

I am a bit giddier today as we are riding into the pueblo for the first time. Mother seems a bit nervous as well. Isabella, mother and I are taking a smaller carriage to el pueblo de Los Angeles. Guadalupe is accompanying me of course. Earlier this morning I had a serious talk with Isabella about my maid. I am free to wash and dress myself but Isabella insisted that Guadalupe is still a necessity when it comes to go outside of the hacienda, especially when I am in the presence of young gentlemen. Guadalupe is essentially there to protect my honor. I can't imagine for the world of me how the Spanish gentlemen might take more advantage than any other man. Isabella said again that it was not their actions but what people might think if I were in the presence of a man completely alone. I remember the look in her eyes as she said horrified "they might _talk_ ".

By noon we were riding to the pueblo, a trip that took around fifteen minutes in our slow carriage, it might have gone faster on horseback but since neither mother or I know how to ride yet we opted for the buggy. I took in the sounds and smells from the beautiful landscape, the only thing that falls under the positive category I have for California thus far.

In the distance I saw the whitewashed adobe houses of the pueblo and they grew larger as we neared. It didn't take too long to get to the plaza mayor once we had spotted the pueblo. It was quaint, a larger space with stands in the middle, a large white fountain for people to fill their buckets with water. There was a tavern, I suspect it to be the only tavern in this little town. I could se a garrison as well. At least we are protected by soldiers, which is also good to know. Isabella had the driver, Ernesto, park the buggy in a shadowy spot, under a tree. I saw children running around the plaza, laughing and screaming loudly as they chased one another. People were flocking to the stands to see what treasures they could find, or what foods were being prepared. The doors of the garrison stood open, with two soldiers in blue jackets and grey trousers guarding the entrance.

By the entrance of the garrison I saw a rather large man, with a huge protruding belly making a beeline as he caught sight of us. Isabella smiled and waved and the tall, fat soldier came forth, closely followed by a shorter man. When they arrived the larger man started speaking to Isabella in fast Spanish and I could only catch a few words of what he was saying as his accent was a bit more slurry than that of señor Fonseca's or Isabella's. The man was a poor representation of a soldier with an unshaven face, that huge belly of his and greasy hair, poorly combed in place and probably held there by its own grease. Although he seemed nice enough when he spoke to Isabella. The other man looked like he was about to fall apart from a mix of boredom and lack of sleep as droopy eyes were made even droopier by the heavy eyelids. Isabella introduced us as the fatter man had made a remark at me and my other, obviously curious at the two, light haired women, since almost all women I had seen thus far were dark haired. She presented us, and when he had gotten our names and understood that we were a bit lacking in Spanish he said slowly but proudly "I am Sergeant Demetrio Lopez Garcia, acting commandant of the pueblo the Los Angeles at your service." Ending his little introduction with a deep, ungraceful bow, due to the fact that he could not bow that low because of his stomach. Then the man looked at the man to his left, the sleepy soldier who stared longingly at the tavern across the plaza, and he added: "Oh, and this is Corporal Reyes". The man only nodded and kept staring, his eyes lighting up as he indiscreetly stuck his elbow in the side of his superior officer and even more indiscreetly half whispered "Don Diego is here, we can go to the tavern to see if he will buy us some w-"the Corporal never finished his sentence as Sergeant Garcia stopped him by placing his hand over his mouth, muttering "Baboso". A term I am not yet familiar with, but seeing as the Sergeant kept using the same term with Corporal Reyes I wouldn't be surprised if I knew it by the end of the week. Sergeant Garcia spoke some more with Isabella in fast Spanish and then smiled at me and my mother. Isabella's eyes lightened up at the mention of the name Don Diego and she shook her head vigorously, the Sergeant and Corporal started walking toward the tavern and Isabella told Ernesto to wait by the carriage while we followed suit.

There, by the horse post stood two men, one incredibly tall and the other short, and balding. The taller man caught my eye instantly and as we neared I got a good look at him. Since I know that no one else will read this diary I feel brave enough to write about how gorgeous this particular man was. Let's start with how tall he was, tall and lean, dressed in Californian, or perhaps Spanish styled attire, a tan jacket with matching trousers and underneath a white blouse, that to my dismay had frills.

Frills on a man, in my perception, can never be a good thing, but perhaps I am stereotyping too much. And also again, I did not know this man. He must have been a head taller than me at least, and I am quite tall to begin with. He had brown, gentle eyes that crinkled slightly in the corners when he smiled, and he seemed to smile all the time, it was a very charming, toothy smile showing of his pearly whites. He had a well-defined jaw and above his upper lip was a thinner moustache that I had seen many other men in the area, and also on the ship getting here wear, it must be the fashion, but the moustache suited him well. I strongly hoped this individual to be Don Diego and he was, for Sergeant Garcia introduced us, mother and I curtsied and Isabella gave her hand for him to kiss, his lips hovering above her hand, not touching it, as she had said was the usual way for a gentleman to kiss a woman's hand. I noticed how she smiled at the lack of his touch.

They started talking in Spanish and mother joined in. Sergeant Garcia said something about wine and Don Diego laughed, a contagious thing for I felt the corners of my mouth lift and looked away so that they wouldn't notice my smile. That same, smooth voice asked me something in Spanish when I looked back, his brown eyes trained on me. I felt the red rising from my throat to my face and didn't know what to say, my Spanish was so limited that I didn't even know what he was talking about and it felt a bit humiliating even that I couldn't respond. Isabella seemed to respond in my place, because of course she was the know-it-all. I caught the word "inglés" and I suppose she explained that I did not know Spanish yet, perhaps that my progress in the language was embarrassingly slow. I don't know if she meant it as a kind gesture or if she perhaps waned to humiliate me, either way it made me blush even deeper. But Don Diego just seemed to brush it off and asked me the same question again, this time in English. I was astonished that a man, even a Don, in this secluded part of the world would be familiar with a language such as English. French was surely more in fashion, or even German, but not English.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you couldn't speak Spanish yet. My question was if you were enjoying California and Los Angeles so far." He said with a smile. He had a deep, but charming, Spanish accent. I answered him and excused myself for my lack in Spanish of course, and lied, saying I enjoyed Los Angeles a great deal. But I guess that from the look he was giving me, he was perceiving more than he let on for I think he saw right through my little lie. We spoke a bit more, the two of us, while mother and Isabella joined in at times. Garcia and the lancer had headed to the tavern it seemed, I wonder what would require that two officers go to the tavern in the middle of the day, alas I did not ask.

Before I knew it Diego had invited me, and my family to join them at their hacienda at the end of the week for dinner and to show me his library. He told me he had a dusty old bilingual dictionary lying around the library and that he would lend it to me so that I might learn faster. Before we left, he introduced us to Bernardo, his manservant, whom we all seemed to have forgotten about, although the man did not care, for he had stood so calm and quiet during the whole conversation. It turned out, Don Diego said, that he was both deaf and dumb, but apparently the best manservant and friend anyone could have. As we said our goodbyes I watched them both sneak off to the tavern as well while we went to the other end of the plaza to get some fabrics for new dresses.

 _June 15_ _th_ _1818_

I have found the last several days to be so boring and I do not know how Isabella or mother have plowed through these three days. Don Rodrigo has either been with mother or on his land, working hard with the vaqueros, either way, I only see him during breakfast and dinner. Mother, when she is not with Don Rodrigo, is either talking to our seamstress, Manuela, who is making our new dresses. Or she reads in the parlor. Isabella is always off riding and sometimes she does not come back until very late. Since I cannot ride, nor know enough Spanish yet to accompany Isabella and meet her friends, I am stranded with Guadalupe, who is not a great conversationalist. I have been looking forward to the dinner that is tomorrow at the de la Vega's so I can have a change of pace.

 **A/N: Thank you for your reviews, they mean a lot to me. I know it is unrolling slowly but bear with me, Christine's writing a diary after all and events are not bundled up and dont just occur during a few months. Changes in life take time. ;)**


	3. June II 1818

_June 16_ _th_ _1818_

Most of the day has been quite uneventful, as it always is for me. But this night was very far from it.

Later this afternoon us ladies got dressed, mother and I in new, Spanish styled dresses, although I refused to wear the mantilla headdress. It was not that I had to wear it, but Isabella insisted it gave me an air of a grown woman.

I was wearing my favorite color, light blue, while mother was looking quite beautiful in her deep crimson dress. Isabella looked as exotic as ever when I saw her waiting for us in the carriage, with her hair swept into a bun sporting a black comb with great detail to its carvings and a black mantilla contrasting with her yellow dress.

Don Rodrigo got into the elegant carriage with Ernesto driving us and we were on our way to the de la Vega's. He told us how he was a good friend of Don Diego's father, Don Alejandro, and how they had lost contact until recently, as he had moved back to Los Angeles. Don Rodrigo continued saying how Don Diego was very much single and that it was time for the young man to settle down, and it even looked like he hoped Isabella to be the woman that snared him in.

We arrived as the sun started setting, the de la Vega hacienda was far grander than ours, although it did not have a park leading up to the casa grande, as they called it. There were some servants waiting for us at the gates and as soon as we got out of the carriage, Ernesto went with them, probably to put it in the stables until we needed it again. I walked through the wooden gates between the white walls right into a charming patio. The ground underneath us was of smooth, tan bricks, although they seemed quite slippery. There was a tree in the middle that casted a long shade to the east. The bottom had a small stone bench that encircled the tree, allowing people to sit and enjoy its shade. To the left were some white stone stairs leading up to a second floor with a few closed doors. Under the second level were windows and a door. An old man with white hair, dressed in an orange traje corto stepped out and welcomed us in Spanish, he embraced señor Fonseca and went to each of us women, taking our hands and kissing them the same way his son had. My suspicions were correct when it showed that this man was Don Alejandro de la Vega, owner of these lands and father of Don Diego. Don Diego walked out after his father, wearing a deep blue suit with gold trimmings and an even frillier shirt, if that was possible. He had a smile on his face and bade us to come in for drinks. The _sala_ , which also served as a dining room, was decorated with carpets, a mahogany table, some chairs and paintings along the wall. The table was set with a white cloth but no food were on the plates. Instead, Don Alejandro had a servant woman, who was quite pretty, hand us wine glasses and then he poured us the red liquid. He proudly said that it was wine from their own land and I felt the alcohol go down my throat and felt its effects after having drained the whole thing, I was thirsty and found no water so I took the next best thing. I had not finished the last drop and found the people in the room to be eyeing me. I realized my mistake and "unladylike behavior" as the last drop hit my tongue. Don Alejandro, Don Rodrigo, Isabella and the servant girl were casting curious glances my way while Don Diego just let out a smile, trying to mask a laugh. I asked what was so funny, and he just said that I reminded him of a certain soldier he knew. The others let out some stifled laughs and Don Alejandro asked the girl, Maria, to get me some water. As I got it, he made a toast, most of it in Spanish, and surprising me and my mother by speaking a few words in very broken English, welcoming me and my mother to this land of his.

We sat down for dinner and the conversation started flowing. I mostly spoke with mother or Don Diego as Don Alejandro's English was no better than my Spanish. But after another few glasses of wine I got more courageous and initiated a conversation with him. We jumped from Spanish to English and when we did not know the words we used hand gestures. It was wonderful!

After desert Don Diego brought me to the library, I thought we were alone for a while, which I remembered was something that should not be allowed in polite society, but saw that in the corner, by the fireplace, sat Bernardo. He was reading a book. Don Diego proceeded to show me the dictionary he was talking about and then he showed me other books. They were in Spanish but they were books I've already read in English and therefor Don Diego said it would be easier to read them again in Spanish. We continued looking at some books and when I seemed particularly interested in one, he lent it to me. Halfway through the library I was holding a tome by Shakespeare, Chateaubriand and Wordsworth.

We continued looking through the books in the library and I saw titles I had never heard of before, most of them in Spanish. There was one that caught my eye, a book I was familiar with but had never gotten the chance to read. It was Don Quijote de la Mancha by Miguel de Cervantes. I figure that when my Spanish is good enough I will read it. Don Diego must have thought the same for he said something similar. I must say that I have yet to have a bad impression from this man, and it amazes me that he would be single after all these years. I did not ask him however, but it is something that nags at me, it persists there, in the back of my mind, like an irritating itch I can't reach.

We did not spend more time in the library after that, he proceeded to show me out and took me to the patio, I noticed Bernardo following us, falling in at a few paces behind. He was being discreet as to not be noticed by us but still having us in his field of vision. Could men be "dueñas"? Isabella had explained the concept of a dueña before to me, about someone who keeps a young señorita company when she finds herself alone with another man as to not rise suspicion about her "virtue". I suspect then, that Bernardo must be the equivalent of my Guadalupe. I wish Guadalupe and I could get along like Bernardo and Don Diego do, when I have seen them together they actually seem to enjoy each other's company and get along quite well, even if one is deaf and dumb.

It was dark when we got out of the hacienda and strolled around the patio. Mother and señor Fonseca were there as well with señor de la Vega. Isabella was nowhere in sight. The dark seemed to heighten my other senses for as we walked out the smell of the flowers and night air seemed stronger. The sound of the crickets and of the wind seemed to grow as well. The stars shone bright up in the heavens and the moon was thin and crescent hiding behind a soft, black cloud. It did not illuminate much, instead señor de la Vega had seen to it that torches had been brought out to the patio so we could see better. We joined the others and we did it hurriedly, as if Don Diego did not want to give the impression that we were nothing other than friends. It dawns on me now that perhaps people might think the wrong thing if they saw us so close. I do not know Don Diego that well, but I know enough to know I do not have any interest in him. Furthermore, my thoughts are still with Victor, that slime. It hurts to think about him, how we were engaged to be married and how he then left me as soon as I lost my dowry. I do not know if Don Diego is like Victor, I don't think so, but then again, I didn't think so about Victor either. And I know that señor Fonseca has hinted at plans for Isabella and Don Diego. I honestly think the both of them would make the perfect pair, she would be little miss perfect marrying mister perfect. And just as I write this I realize that Isabella doesn't really seem interested in Don Diego that way. It wasn't like she ignored him the other day, but she wasn't overtly friendly with him, showing signs of wanting to become more than friends or inviting him to court her. Maybe the has interest in some other caballero? Don Diego didn't seem interested in her either. He shows the same interest in Isabella as he does in me I think.

We spent a while longer in the patio, Isabella joined us as well. We ate our dessert under the stars and Don Diego whisked out a guitar and started singing. He had a nice, soothing voice and the words flowed out smoothly as he sang a song about love, I think. He even sang a song in English, a lullaby that was faintly familiar to me. Mother seemed to recognize it better for she smiled and joined in, her voice frail at first but Don Diego encouraged her and soon they were singing a full duet.

I must say, writing this diary has proven to be quite therapeutic for me. Although venting my distaste for Isabella or the state of this backwater town may stay the same, I feel they are more in control, as if I manage them better. It helps me go through my day and look back at it, as if analyzing it somehow, or seeing something I would have otherwise forgotten about. It might be strange then, that I am determined to write down such a traumatic experience for me. I have had friends who have gone through life changing events and while some might not want to dwell on those moments, others feel like analyzing each detail. I am the latter, in putting down the events that occurred maybe the experience will not seem as traumatic, even now, thinking about it and writing it down, my perception of those moments seem so different.

I feel it necessary to begin with how I was feeling, as we left the de la Vega hacienda. I was enchanted by the evening I had experienced, probably my first positive view of what Los Angeles and its inhabitants had to offer. We had been on the road for perhaps ten minutes when we heard screams to the east. The screams grabbed at my heart and I felt my pulse beat wildly in my temples. That sense of well being changed of course, to a state of nervousness, at first. There followed an eerie silence until a lone, heart wrenching scream could be heard, closer now. Mother embraced me and Isabella as señor Fonseca had Ernesto stop the carriage. Both men mumbled between themselves for a few seconds until Ernesto turned the carriage and set the horses in a wild gallop back to the de la Vega hacienda. I could see the building in the distance, we were close, so close, until the carriage, because of the strain put on it stumbled and we all almost fell out. Ernesto stopped it swiftly and said something about a wheel. I could hear the screams again, and hooves, getting closer and closer, the faint light of the moon illuminated dust clouds coming towards us. Señor Fonseca, with an alarmed look on his face, told us to run to the hacienda to get help while he and Ernesto stayed to keep whatever was coming at us at bay.

I had no time to react, I could feel my stomach do summersaults, my heart stoop and my blood turn to ice all at the same time. Isabella had already begun running toward the casa grande shouting for help. But she was still far away. Mother took my hand and started dragging me with her. I had no idea what we were running from and I think that it was the unknown that frightened me more than knowing what might come. It might only be bandits, or coyotes, or perhaps, I thought at the time, it might a monster. My judgment and senses were clouded by the fear of the unknown.

As we ran I heard signs of a struggle and I felt my feet turn heavy, señor Fonseca and Ernesto had to be fighting someone and I could not bring myself to run, my body was weighing me down and it brought a rising panic with it, like I was running without moving forward. Mother dragged me and told me to stay focused, that we were almost there, that Isabella had to have reached the house by now. But I barely heard her at the time, I only heard my own shallow breaths as my pace slowed even more. I felt a hand grab my shoulder and was twisted around to come face to face with a man much taller than myself, wearing a dark bandana across his nose and mouth. His hand was like an iron claw that bore into my shoulder and I felt my mother trying to tug me lose from him as the man dragged me to him. I had no pearls, no jewels, nothing that could interest him. Then, at precisely that second it dawned me that I did, I had something that interested him, for I was a woman and the thought of what he might do to me was enough to allow me to push away from him.

In the distance I saw Ernesto and señor Fonseca battling three or four men in the dark of night, señor Fonseca used a sword he had hidden somewhere while Ernesto had to make due with a long wooden stick he must have found on the ground.

The man that had grabbed me closed in on mother and I as we both could not move due to the confusion and horror we felt toward the situation. When those sinister eyes locked with mine and his hand reached out again, as if in slow motion, I felt myself try to punch him in a desperate attempt to rid myself of him. He caught my clenched fist and pulled me closer. I smelled the stale sweat and cheap alcohol and tried to turn away. Mother tried to separate him from me but he pushed her away easily, making her fall hard on the ground. I tried to assure her that everything was going to be fine while he dragged me to the side of the road. In the distance I could see the casa grande of the de la Vega hacienda, the irony hit me as I realized that hope was within my grasp and I could do nothing to reach it. I could only hope that Don Alejandro and Don Diego were gathering their vaqueros and heading for us. The bandido that held me pushed me to the cold, hard ground and threw himself on me, touching me in forbidden places and lifting the bandana to kiss me while I felt myself scream and struggled desperately. He was not far from his objective when suddenly, while looking up, he froze. Even I could feel the chill in his spine as his eyes widened in terror. At first I thought it was Don Alejandro and the cavalry come to help us. A fine steel tipped sword came above me and pointed at the mans exposed neck. No words were spoken and the man slowly got up from me. I had no chance to turn around and see who my rescuer was, I could only try to cover myself as the bandido had torn my dress in various places, trying to expose my skin. I felt a sigh of relief and tears flow down as I noticed that he had been unsuccessful in trying to force himself on me.

Behind me I heard a low and sinister growl in Spanish. The voice brought relief, I thought at the time that it might belong to my savoir. The clash of steel blades sounded. I heard the piercing of flesh and a body hit the ground. I held my breath, hoping that the bandido had fallen and not the other one. The night breeze brushed against my bare skin and for the first time I noticed how my dress was in rags, the skirt was torn in two places, revealing my left leg up to its thigh. It had been torn by my chest as well, leaving little to the imagination, although I had tried to cover myself as best as I could, dazed I turned around and felt my breath catch in my throat as I came face to face with a black dressed devil.

A silent scream came from my mouth. The taller being, enveloped in the sinister shadows of the night put away the silver sword and said something. I could not hear what he said, I felt so exposed and trapped under that dark gaze of his. At the moment I only wanted to get away from him, I felt that he was a larger threat than the man that had tried to force himself on me. Looking back and analyzing the situation I have no doubt that he would try to do the same with me as the other man. I screamed, finally finding my voice again. I screamed higher when I realized he had no face, it was enveloped by darkness and he stepped back, putting his hands up, no doubt trying to lull me into a sense of false security. I ran for the house, everything else forgotten, the only thought was security and to get away from that monster. I reached the doors and a servant opened them, it was the woman who had served us wine. She was followed by Isabella who was shocked at the state of me. She explained how Don Alejandro had ridden out with his vaqueros to help her father and Ernesto. That was when I fainted in the servant woman's arms.

 _June 17_ _th_ _1818_

This morning I woke with a headache and in a bed that was not mine. Most of yesterday's events are still fresh in my memory and I felt I had to write them down to the detail because from what I saw. I am only sure of one thing: that black dressed devil has to be arrested and executed for the safety of all of us. I found myself in the de la Vega hacienda. A servant from our hacienda had ridden in early this morning with a change of clothes, when I saw the torn dress unwanted memories rose up. When I finally decided to step out of my room, earlier this afternoon, Don Alejandro and Don Diego were buzzing around me like mother hens. The old don was worried sick and there was a tension in the air, I knew he wanted to ask me if I had been violated, if that bandido had managed to force himself upon me. The fact was that I had arrived in such a state yesterday night that they were worried my honor had been soiled. I assured them that the man had not had the chance. Then I spoke of the one who had killed him and to my surprise I saw faint _smiles_ on their faces.

Apparently this black dressed devil was called Zorro. Now I knew a name at least for when I would report him to the local authorities. Mother had stayed the night as well and when she was well enough I begged the de la Vegas to take us both to the pueblo for I had to speak to the local law enforcer as soon as possible. They seemed confused as to why I wanted to go there, the soldiers had come to take the bandidos early this morning. They bandidos had been laying in wait for us until one of them had fallen off is horse and broken his leg, which explained the screams we had heard. I only said I had to talk to the commanding officer.

Don Diego took mother and I to Los Angeles in a buggy. I felt as if I had a hangover from last night's events but it made me even more determined to see this through. He took us to the gates of the garrison and told the soldier that we wished to speak to the Comandante. We were let in, Don Diego would be the translator. The funny little corporal from the other day; Reyes was his name, showed us to the office. I stepped in and found the fat Sergeant from the other day sitting at the comandante's desk. I found it a bit impertinent that he would sit at his superior's desk but said nothing, no doubt the comandante would have a word with him when he stepped in. So I said hello to the Sergeant and waited patiently with mother. I received a curious glance from both Don Diego and Sergeant Garcia. When they asked whom I was waiting for I said that it was for the comandante. The sergeant burst out laughing while Don Diego explained that it was Sergeant Garcia who was the acting comandante of the pueblo, as he had said the other day. I most have forgot or it must have passed my mind, but when Don Diego said that the fat, unshaven man in front of me was responsible for the security of the pueblo I understood how those bandidos and that Zorro could roam about the countryside as they pleased. I lost my composure, and I had all the right to. How can a man like Garcia be the acting comandante? It is surely putting all of our lives at a great risk, and it is a responsibility he is not capable of. I suspect that he know nothing of upholding the law. When I told him about that Zorro creature and how he should be captured, Garcia said he had been chasing the outlaw for years without any luck. It infuriates me to no end, I feel now that I have change a bad life for a worse one, California is beginning to show how savage and uncivilized it really is, and as the charm of novelty and the exotic begins to fade away I begin to see it for what it really is. What on earth was mother thinking when she married señor Fonseca?

 _June 19_ _th_ _1818_

I set out early this morning, with Guadalupe of course, and Ernesto, and two other vaqueros, toward Los Angeles. Señor Fonseca was not pleased when I asked for a buggy to ride in to town with. In fact, he was not pleased to hear that I wanted to leave the hacienda at all, especially because of what had happened two days ago. In either case I convinced him to let me go and so I found myself going into Los Angeles. I received my fair share of stares while walking toward the garrison, no doubt word had gotten out about the bandit attack. I am determined to solve this bandido case. Zorro will be brought in. I can not rest until I see that thing behind bars, he gives me nightmares, a tall, black shadow with no face and black piercing eyes. The mere thought makes me shiver, even in the warm Californian sun.

I spoke to Garcia again, this time I found myself composed and kept my emotions in check. I asked if he would even set out to capture this bandit. The officer, from what I could understand, for he had to repeat it slowly, and many times, would not send out a patrol as it was "a waste of time anyway". When I asked him why he merely said that no one knew about the whereabouts of Zorro. The most preposterous thing of all was of course when he said I should be grateful to the villain, as he no doubt had saved my honor, my life and the lives of my stepfather and mother. I was baffled to be sure, and probably quiet for a few minutes while the sergeant realized his mistake and his round face turned more red by the minute. I then asked if I could have a word with the mayor of the pueblo, the alcalde. I was sent to his office, accompanied by the goofy corporal who stared longingly toward the tavern as we crossed the plaza. The mayor was no better than the Sergeant. At first he was pleasant to be sure, asking me how I was holding up, taking a great care to speak in clear and slow Spanish. When I asked what was to be done about Zorro he only said that I should be grateful for being rescued, as many other women would probably want to be in my shoes, and the bastard dared to laugh. I asked to speak with someone else, I did not know the word in Spanish, but maybe the magistrate would listen more to what I had to say. There was no current magistrate in Los Angeles the alcalde informed me, but a new one was to be dispatched within the next two months. Two whole months before a person that might have some common sense comes to this crazy town. It starts to dawn on me now that the people who govern this town might be crazy. There is no presence of the law, nor does it seem to be enforced. Yes, those bandits that attacked us are behind bars and are to be sent off to a larger town for their trial and imprisonment. But what about the other bandit? Zorro seems a great deal more dangerous than the ones who attacked me, yet no one seems to see the same problem or terror as I do.

As I walked out of the alcalde's office I stumbled upon a young señorita, she came out of nowhere and I embarrassingly tried to apologize as best as I could in my shaky Spanish. She only brushed it off, laughing. As she saw who she had bumped into she seemed surprised, and a smile grew on her face, she introduced herself as Moneta Esperón. She already seemed to know who I was of course but I introduced myself as well. She asked where I was heading to, and if I had any further engagement for the afternoon, from what I could understand, for she took great care in speaking clearly and slowly. I told her I had no prior engagement, she seemed pleased and asked if I wanted to join her for lunch in the tavern. I had never ventured into the tavern before and agreed.

I walked with my new friend toward the tavern while she asked about my new home. She did not bring up the subject of the bandit attack, which I found very tactful and graceful of her, as I was in no mood to talk about it. We walked into the tavern, a large, open space with the bar by the entrance and a great deal of chairs and tables. It had a fireplace and even a second floor, with three doors, probably rooms they rent out.

The tavern was a lively place and no doubt the unofficial meeting place for people to get together in the town. I saw a great deal of vaqueros, rancheros and soldiers in there, laughing, drinking wine and eating plates with delicious looking food. The aroma made my stomach rumble and I realized how hungry I was. However, I do not think I have vocabulary enough to describe what I saw on those plates. Stews, soft tortillas, colorful rice, maybe paella, different meats, "carne picada" as they called it and different kinds of vegetables. Señorita Esperón was greeted by a balding man standing behind the bar as we walked in. She ordered for us and we were seated, close to the windows so we could have a bit of privacy while looking out over the tavern. We were served wine, and a pitch of water. I tried the ruby red liquid, it was not as sweet as the de la Vega wine, but it was still a good wine, a bit more earthy and perhaps it had been stored for a shorter time. The food was brought to our table, something called enchiladas, a _pisto_ of vegetables, resembling greatly the French _ratatouille,_ a plate of cut cheese, some serrano ham and a basket of bread. It was surely too much for us two but señorita Esperón told me that we would save the leftovers for our servants. That meant there would be some left for Ernesto, Guadalupe and even the vaqueros who had followed us. However, I spotted the vaqueros entering later, having a meal for themselves, so even more for Guadalupe and Ernesto. I got to know señorita Esperón better, she was the daughter of a hacendado, no shock there as she was dressed like it and had the air of one. Although my Spanish is still limited I caught many things from our hacky conversation. She spoke of Los Angeles with great passion and I could see how much she loved the town. She asked about me and I told her my story, about my deceased father and how Don Rodrigo Fonseca had asked my mother, a widow, to marry him and come with him to California. Señorita Esperón thought me and my mother were very brave to come, I can only think us stupid by this stage. There is no going back for us, there is nothing left in Boston, nothing that could save me from this foreign and strange place.

There was a sudden turmoil in the plaza. The soldiers were escorting the bandidos that had attacked us the other night, they were to be sent to San Diego for their trial and probably pending execution. One of them had tried to escape and it had taken three soldiers to subdue him. I felt myself shiver at the sight of those men and memories of that night flooded into my memory, the thought of that man's hands on me, the thought of his vile kisses. I had kept repressing those thought for so long and I was still trying to keep them in control, I could not let them resurface there in that tavern, full of people. But the flashes of him on me kept coming back to my memory and I felt myself start cold sweating and my throat go dry. I felt dirty, and whenever I think back at it, I still do. Maybe I should not have written down the incident after all... The bandido had never gotten his way with me and still I felt he had left his mark, his mere touch had soiled me and I wanted to tear off the skin he had touched. I started feeling nauseous then and a hand touched mine. I looked up and saw the concerned eyes of señorita Esperón. I had no idea I had started hyperventilating.

"They have them now, they won't touch you anymore" she said. I tried to explain that I had not lost my virtue that night but she held up a hand in protest. She said, even if they had not forced themselves upon me, an unwanted advance or touch by a man could mess with the mind just as much, from what I understood. It almost sounded as if she had experienced the same thing. She did not ask how far the bandido had gotten with me, instead she told of a time when a man from Spain had come to collect bonds and how he had shown interest in her, and how she had found it most "inconvenient and unnerving", although I appreciated her story, I found our experience to be greatly different. I felt myself calm down as the bandidos were being dragged away, far from Los Angeles.

We finished our meal, all the time she kept me distracted by telling me anecdotes of Los Angeles. Most of them I found quite interesting. The door opened and into the tavern walked Sergeant Garcia, who sat down with Corporal Reyes and ordered a whole pitch of wine. The sergeant then proceeded to serve only himself while the corporal stared longingly at the pitch. I found myself scoffing at the ineptitude of the fat sergeant. I looked around and was surprised that no one else reprimanded the man for his actions. How could an acting comandante, on duty be wasting away his time in the tavern drinking?

Señorita Esperón could clearly see my dislike for the rotund man. She told me that I should get to know the sergeant better before judging him, that at heart, he was a good man and had done a great deal for the people of Los Angeles. I told her that it was doubtful, especially since he had done nothing about that Zorro from last night. When I mentioned Zorro señorita Esperón seemed slightly more interested in what I had to say. She sat upright and asked carefully what I meant by that. I told her about my encounter with the outlaw and how he had taken down that other man, no doubt to get to me. Señorita Esperón seemed outraged that I would think Zorro a man without honor. I corrected her, Zorro cannot possibly be a man with honor in the first place, and less a man; he must surely be a devil lurking as he does in the night. I told her of what I had seen, a manlike creature with a hollow blackness for face and even darker depths for where his eyes would be. I shivered at the thought of him, the mere sight of him had scared me senseless. Señorita Esperón remarked about how maybe I had gotten a bad first impression of the man, because he was just that: a man, she said.

Zorro had saved more lives of the people in the pueblo than she could count and that if I looked at that night from a different angle he had saved me as well. I could not believe my ears. Here was a distinguished señorita telling me to appreciate the appearance of that man. I asked her if more people in the pueblo shared her view of this Zorro and she said yes. I tried to hide my shock. We finished our meal and the señorita asked if I would go to mass on Sunday. I had forgotten about how present the catholic fate is in the lives of these people. Mother had mentioned it. I was raised catholic but we had never been the ones to go to mass every day, or every Sunday for that matter. Alas, I told her yes, perhaps a visit to the house of God would calm my nerves, or perhaps it would allow me to get to know the people of the pueblo better.

 _June 23_ _rd_ _1818_

Today, early this morning we went to mass. The father, or rather _padre_ , as they call him here, named Felipe, was a kind, short man who had a very gentle demeanor and even welcomed me and my mother as mass started. It was over faster than I thought and as I walked out of church I spotted Don Diego. Isabella walked over to him and both talked. I did not want to get between them. The other day, without wanting to, I had walked in on a conversation between Isabella and her father about her marrying prospects. He seemed angry even, encouraging her to be more open about the thought of marrying Don Diego. When I tried to get away Don Rodrigo asked me to stay, after Isabella had left he told me how important the union between the de la Vegas' and the Fonsecas' could be. I understood what he meant, I was not to get closer to Don Diego, but I assured Don Rodrigo that I had no intention to get closer to that young caballero. However it did hurt when he did not think of me as a part of the Fonseca family, I bear their name now after all, and I am his stepdaughter.

When we got home from mass I sat down and started writing a letter to the governor, who was apparently in Monterrey. I used the dictionary to help me but I still found the syntax and general grammar to be kind of difficult and I know that the finished letter was not in the least grammatically correct. I swallowed my pride and searched for Isabella so she could help me with my letter. When I asked her she lit up and agreed right on the spot. But as she started reading it she looked at me in disbelief. It had been a letter about the Zorro problem and I had tried to make it clear about what a menace he was, I spoke of the need for a new commanding officer, and how sergeant Garcia was not fit to command the garrison and even less to protect the pueblo. We needed reinforcements if this man was to be brought to custody, and we needed a skilled officer to lead the soldiers.

Isabella actually got angry with me when she had finished the letter and told me that I should be kissing the ground that Zorro walked for having saved me. I kept explaining that he had killed a man and would probably have continued doing what the first bandido had done if I had not gone away running and screaming. Isabella tossed me the letter and told me that I would have to write it myself, she would not help me.

 _June 30_ _th_ _1818_

After deep examination done over the past few days I have finally arrived at a conclusion. This town seems to live in its own microcosmos where things you only read about in novels or fairy tales happen. There is a sort of naiveté amongst the people and they rely on the whims of an unpredictable, inhuman outlaw. But in a sense I can understand why, maybe I will do the same in a while seeing as the general local government is completely incapable of doing its job.

 **A/N: A bit of a longer chapter for you. I thank those of you who take the time to read this story. I am having a hell of a time writing it, the story seems to almost write itself.**


	4. July 1818

_July 6th 1818_

I have difficulty sleeping, I am being haunted by nightmares of Zorro, a black mass of shadows with no face, always engulfing me. I have stayed up these past few nights so I can escape the nightmares and get some peace for once.

I keep mostly to myself these days. It seems my dislike for Zorro has caught on early and whenever I go into town I get angry stares, or complete strangers that try to stand up for the outlaw. So I don't go to the pueblo anymore, for I feel greatly unwelcomed. Mother does not really say anything on the matter, in fact, she seems preoccupied in general. Ever since that night she seems paranoid and whenever I see her step out of the hacienda, it is as if she always looks over her shoulder, as if waiting for someone to attack her. Isabella is still sour with me, and it brings me quite a pleasant loneliness in regards to her, finally she leaves me alone. I often see her ride out alone before noon and she is always back for dinner. I keep mostly to my room, actually making an effort now to study Spanish. I finally know what I can do here, I know I can make a difference. These misguided people might not know better, but I know what this town needs: law and order, and I am going to bring it here. I am going to get a better officer than Garcia to command the cuartel for starters, and then get the Governor himself here to start inspecting the pueblo. There are many things that need to be done and I feel they should be so before the magistrate comes at the end of August.

The only time I actually step out of the hacienda now, is when I go to mass. I am not the religious type but I must say that the only person I can have an honest conversation with now, that I do not feel has an ulterior motive, such as trying to change my mind about Zorro, is padre Felipe. I go every Sunday, I find comfort in knowing that padre Felipe does not judge me like perhaps others might. Moneta still speaks with me but we are tense around each other now that she has found out what I really think of her outlaw. I like her, for despite our differences in opinion she tries to be civil, but she just ends up appearing uncomfortable around me. In fact, she is more with Isabella these days.

Yesterday, after mass, Don Diego came up to me and asked me how I was doing, that he rarely sees me in town anymore. I did not really answer his question and he went along with it. Another reason for not venturing out alone from the hacienda is the fact that two of the captured bandidos escaped three days ago and they have yet to be captured. Who knows if they're still lurking around Los Angeles? I don't want to find out.

Mother urges me to learn riding better, so that I do not have to take the carriage every time and bother poor Ernesto. But she urges me also not to venture too far from the hacienda alone, it is probably because of those two loose bandits. The stallion that I picked out, I call him Cid, after the famous Spanish legend, Rodrigo de Diaz de Vivar, a great name even if it is for a crazy horse. But even if he has thrown me now a few times I have taken a special liking to him, perhaps he is not destined to carry me yet. I am still sore and feel rather defeated from all the times he has thrown me, but my family members keep urging me to get up on him.

 _July 8_ _th_ _1818_

Don Diego came for a visit today, but it was not to see me, instead he was there to speak with señor Fonseca. I never understood what the matter was about, until I heard the word "loans" being repeated a couple of times. Might it be that señor Fonseca owed the de la Vega's money? I find it hard to believe, especially when he keeps spending like he were the richest man in the country and he keeps showering Isabella with gifts. I kept to the sala and read while the men talked. When Don Diego was finished he greeted me and asked me about my reading and how I was all in all. I felt trapped at the time, because I had nowhere to run and this time I had to answer his question. It might be strange that I let out some deeper thoughts and preoccupations to a man I had only met a few times, Don Diego has that effect on me. So I told him how I am being haunted by nightmares of that bandido that tried to force himself upon me, and how they get worse, because Zorro shows up and envelopes me in the darkness and I fall into a black hole and disappear, only to wake up in a cold sweat, sometimes screaming. I also told him that I might be the most hated woman in Los Angeles due to my open distaste for the bandit.

Don Diego listened carefully and when I had spoken he gave me a new point of view on the matter, an objective point of view. He said that I had to understand that many of the citizens of Los Angeles regarded this Zorro as a hero, and that they felt insulted by whomever came and said otherwise. He confirmed to me on the spot that Los Angeles was inhabited by crazy and desperate people, to go to a criminal for help. Don Diego only shrugged at this and said "It's just how it is around here." He told me about former commandants and magistrates, all servants of the crown and how they had been greedy and corrupted. So he understood how the townspeople chose to put their trust in Zorro and not in a representative of the law. We left the subject soon since we both saw how we did not really agree on it and we spoke some more about literature. He left shortly after and I decided to go to the stables to try see if Cid would not throw me this day.

 _July 11_ _th_ _1818_

As the days get unbearably hot now, my Spanish is progressing and today was also the first day I rode Cid without getting thrown off. Earlier this afternoon I walked in after having been in the stables for a few hours to the sound of argument. It seems mother and señor Fonseca are disagreeing on something. As soon as they saw me they pretended as if nothing had happened, but I had heard them. Mother seemed worried about something, she had said something about those bandits being sent after us. I wonder if that attack the other day was not a random ambush, but a planned one.

Isabella still does not talk to me, now she does not even look at me anymore. I find this new coldness of hers quite amusing, for once I get to tease her and I enjoy it. I allow myself to be as petty as possible, as it is the only thing I have. Mother is worried that I am distancing myself from everything because of this Zorro matter, she says I should keep my thoughts to myself and go along with the general thought of him. I could not believe my ears at first, of course I did not listen to her, I will get my thought through and show the people that they can trust in their government. Later this afternoon I got a response to the letter I had sent to the governor, it was from his office. The governor himself informed me that he was already acquainted with the Zorro situation, he could not spare any more men but that a new commandant would arrive at the beginning of next month, a qualified soldier from Spain that would surely satisfy everyone's needs. He also reminded me about the magistrate that would arrive next month. I see now that even the governor will be difficult to handle. So naturally I sat down and explained the situation in a letter, this time to the Vice Roy. I have no idea where his office might be, so I just sent it to the governor's office as well, addressing it to his Excellency, hoping it will arrive to its destination.

 _July 15_ _th_ _1818_

I see a pattern being formed these last few days. I know that I appreciated my newfound loneliness at the beginning of the month, but now I understand why they call it loneliness. I hear mother and señor Fonseca argue more now, Isabella is never around the house and whenever she sees me she takes off in a different direction, so as not to have to even talk to me. The only human contact I have, besides padre Felipe or mother, is Guadalupe, and she rarely says much. I still do not like how her eyes dig into me, like they are unlocking my darkest secrets, but once we sit down, she starts telling me tales of her people and quite frankly, after a few minutes I am mesmerized by her stories and urge her to tell more. She is a headstrong woman and the more I get to know her, the more I admire that. She also tells me about how she got to serve the Fonseca's, how she has lived around Los Angeles all her life, how she saw the city in its early stages and how she has seen it grow. This woman is much older than I thought, maybe a few years older than Don Alejandro.

This night I had a nightmare again, it was longer than usual, and since it is so warm now during the nights that even the breeze does not cool the sweat on my skin, I went to the balcony to have a breather and to get out from my room. It must have been midnight or after that, there was almost a full moon shining on the landscape before me, beyond the gardens of the hacienda and towards the mountains. As I stared into the distance I saw a lone rider moving north. I did not get a good look at the rider but it was clear that he or she came from our hacienda. I stayed up to see if she or he might return but my eyelids turned heavy before anyone got back so I went back to bed.

 _July 16_ _th_ _1818_

I slept most of the day so that I might have more strength to stay up during the night and see what mysterious person might be riding out in the middle of the night. It makes me quite giddy and excited, sitting here, spying, waiting for the sound of hooves. It is currently nine in the evening and the sun will set in an hour or so.

… It is currently ten and the landscape is swiftly changing as the sun is setting, I am always mesmerized by the beautiful array of colors this land holds when the sun sinks down behind the horizon and settles for the night. The heat of the day is suddenly not as overbearing, although it is still there, and tonight a full moon starts peeking through the clouds. Still there is no rider.

… It is a little after eleven and I just got this brilliant idea that if there is a rider leaving the hacienda then he or she must actually go to the stables first to get a horse. So I am currently walking down there in nothing but my nightgown, a thin robe and some slippers to see who my mysterious rider might be. The absolute boredom I have suffered lately might be what drives me to stick my nose into someone else's business. As I am arriving at the stables all is quiet, the vaqueros have turned in for the night, so have the servants, mother is most likely sleeping now and señor Fonseca might be awake in his study reading or whatever he does late at night. I see now a figure walking from the hacienda, my theory was right! The person is walking right to the horses and is saddling one.

Wait a minute, now, in the light of the moon I see her raven black hair and her yellow dress, it is Isabella! I find this confusing, because why on earth would little miss do-good be going out for midnight rides, unless she has something to hide. Her horse is saddled, quite rapidly on her part, she is mounting up and heading off, north, like the night before. I think I shall follow her on Cid, hopefully he will behave, and tomorrow morning I shall have to recall whatever happens after this entry, so that I might write it down. I will have to mount Cid without a saddle though...

 _July 17_ _th_ _1818_

It is currently five in the morning and I am feeling a great surge of adrenaline from this night's adventures. I think I might have perished several times, but perhaps that is just me being overly dramatic, as always. I think I must have looked quite mad, sitting in the shadows, swiftly writing in my diary while spying on my sister setting off into the night. I must have looked even madder when I decided to put down pen and paper, into one of the folds of my robe, and follow her, on my nearly wild horse, sans saddle, into the Californian wilderness. When I have children, and they have grown up to be sensible human beings, I shall retell this madness of mine.

I don't think I have ever felt more freedom than the moment Cid started galloping under a clear and moonlit sky, how the warm wind kissed my flustered face and how it tore through my hair. I think at one moment I suspected myself of becoming crazy, perhaps as crazy as the Angelinos. But alas, I followed Isabella at a great distance and after twenty minutes of careful, but free riding, she stopped. She stopped in a grand, enclosed meadow, and I waited among the shadows, on the other side. Then she just stood there, by her horse for a good two hours I suspect. It seemed like she was waiting for someone, or something. She started looking impatient at three hours, and after another thirty minutes she mounted up and went back home, I followed at a distance and waited until she put her horse back until I let Cid back into his box to rest, then I crept up the stairs as stealthily as my nightclothes would allow me and into my room, where I am currently writing about what just happened. I have no idea why Isabella would venture out in the middle of the night and wait on the edge of a meadow. But I suspect that she has been doing this for a few nights now. So I will go to bed now and tomorrow I will follow her again.

I woke up a little after noon and got no questions as to why I was up so late, when I am usually the one to rise with the sun. Isabella had already been up for hours, Guadalupe informed me. I started asking, as casually as I could, about the meadow north of the hacienda. Guadalupe said there was nothing particular about it, although one had to pass by it to get up to the mountains, where many bandidos usually take to if they're being hunted. Might it be that Isabella had a rendezvous with a bandido? If that was the case, she could very well be putting her life at a great risk. Of course, this is all speculation. I should mention the strange looks Guadalupe started giving me after I had asked about the meadow. Maybe she suspects _me_ now? In either case, this night I will set out after Isabella again and lecture her, I do not care much for her but even I will not ignore when someone is putting their life on the line for some stupidity. The bandidos from the other day are still on the loose and she could very well stumble upon them in the worst case.

I also find it mildly interesting that the perfect Isabella might have a bandido sweetheart, and I wonder who it might be. Because putting Zorro aside, there are not really that many famous bandidos here, most take the quickest road to Mexico. Then another thought has popped up in my head, what if that foolish girl wants to meet Zorro? I have seen how she defends him, it wouldn't be strange if she had some romantic attachment to him, he is after all outside of the law, deliciously dangerous and very mysterious: all these things mixed into one being, things that attract any woman I have ever come across, that is, women who want to be swept off their feet.

This night I might find it out once and for all, Isabella will have to learn a lesson, maybe I should scare her senseless. Or maybe just sit down and have a serious talk with her. If she does not listen to reason I will just have to tell señor Fonseca.

.. It is just before midnight and I can hear my stepsister come out from her room, and she thinks I won't hear her… how childish this is, I mean, that I cannot actually stop her now, in the corridor, but that I actually have to spy and follow her. Might I be jealous that she has the courage to set out in the middle of the night and that I would never dare to do so? Because I think that I might actually admire her, her brash courage or excessive stupidity. Either way, she is doing something I don't think I could, she is setting out after something she dearly wants, even if it means danger, and she does not even seem to hesitate. Maybe that is one of the reasons that Victor left me, because I was always so boring and always played it safe. I know that losing the dowry had a great part in it, but a part of me wonders _if_ my personality had been different, maybe then he would have fallen for all of me, not just for my looks and for my money. I will never know, so it is useless to reopen healed wounds, even though I am sometimes reminded of the scars. I wonder if Don Diego finds Isabella exciting, if he likes that sort of thing. Maybe he finds me dull, due to the fact that I am incapable of anything outside of reading a good book. It has taken me a long time to understand Spanish, I still struggle with the language, I am still incapable of riding, and I suspect that the only reason I did not fall or get thrown off yesterday night was because Cid sensed the importance of the "mission". Maybe now, analyzing my actions closely, I might see that there is a hint of jealousy on my part, toward Isabella, because she has adapted better to Los Angeles than I have. It is true that she has lived here a few years before San Francisco, as a child. But she takes to this wilderness in such a natural way, while still remaining the perfect lady. I feel like she manages to balance it and the outcome is this perfect person that I cannot stand. And I cannot stand that anyone else would like her as well, because then maybe that would mean that they do not like me, for I lack in so many ways. And even when I try to be reasonable, like with the whole Zorro situation, I still get the cold shoulder, but Isabella shows admiration and liking for Zorro and she gets all the appreciation.

I just realize that I might have let a little green monster become huge. I did not know I was this jealous until I actually wrote it down.

 _July 18_ _th_ _1818_

I do not know where to begin, for this night was very intense. A great many things happened that I cannot wrap my head around. I followed Isabella, just as last night, sans saddle, in nothing but robe and nightgown. I rode to the abandoned field north of the hacienda. I waited like Isabella did, but on the other side of the meadow. One hour went by, then two. By the third hour I heard the sound of hooves. It came from the mountains. I felt exposed suddenly, in my white robe and nightgown, so I just laid myself flat on the ground, hoping that the new visitor would not spot me.

The sound of the hooves seemed stronger and into the meadow I saw a giant horse ride in. he looked like a black apparition, like a phantom horse as he galloped. I knew fully well who his rider was. It was the same shadow I had seen all those nights ago, only now the full moon illuminated him more and I saw the outline of a tall man, dressed all in black. I think that it was then that I let go of the breath I had been holding. It was then my stomach twisted and relaxed as my mind realized that the man had not been a shadow of the night, nor a monster come to take me to that dark hole, as I had seen it in my nightmares. I still think the bandit to be dangerous but I realize him to be just a man now, albeit, an agile and most cunning man, but a man nonetheless. He must've been halfway through the meadow when, to my surprise, my dear stepsister mounted her horse, set out in a crazed gallop and feigned falling a few feet in front of the bandido. I do not know how low my jaw sank when I saw her little act, but it seems the outlaw fell for it. It was then that he stopped his horse and swiftly looked around, even at this moment he was cautious. I had done well in hiding in the tall grass, for he would have most assuredly seen me, even if I had been standing behind the tree line. Then he proceeded to unmount that beast of his, who stood perfectly still, ears swishing from one side to the other, no doubt being on guard as well. The outlaw went to check on my stepsister and then took her in his arms! I saw them talk but had no idea what they were saying to one another, I could, however, see her snuggle up to him. The outlaw mounted his horse again, with her in front of him, her hands firmly clasped around his neck and her face in the fabric of his black shirt. I was too far away to see his facial expression, but no doubt the sinful man was enjoying every minute of it. And my not so virtuous stepsister seemed to enjoy it as well, judging from her body language. The horse started walking, probably toward our hacienda, when it hit me that it was walking right toward me, and I realized, in a great panic, that they would see me, or at least see Cid!

I cannot begin to describe the stress and adrenaline that shot through me at that moment. My brain was working at double speed and I started moving, along the dusty ground, toward Cid, to get away from the outlaw's line of sight. Everything seemed to move slowly as I dragged myself like a serpent through the high grass and the bushes toward my horse. What I sight I must have been! A desperate attempt to hide myself, and I say desperate for I am sure that the blackguard saw me. I managed to get to Cid and go further down the tree line, but then there was a moment when my horse decided not to play along and went straight for the bandit. I think I have never hyperventilated as much as I did then. I held my breath as my stupid stallion trotted toward the two people mounted and curiously neighed. I saw how the outlaws' hand flew to his side, to clasp his silver blade, but how he relaxed at the sight of Cid. He must've thought him a wild stallion, and in that moment I thanked my lucky stars that I had decided to ride without a saddle. But I think Isabella recognized him, even if she did not say anything. Zorro said something to her and then laughed a little, it was a slight chuckle, accompanied by a very charming grin, I could tell from far away since his pearly whites where the only white thing amidst all that black attire. Cid stared at them, and at the outlaw's horse for a while and then the traitor set off, in the opposite direction of the hacienda, no doubt to explore. I hope that imbecile of a horse never returns, he can rot in the wilderness for all I care, for he almost exposed me tonight! Zorro urged his horse forward and he and my stepsister where gone.

I think I waited there, alone in the dark, for at least thirty minutes before realizing that I now had to walk home. It took me the better part of an hour and a half, since I had to walk in nothing but thin slippers through rough terrain. The horizon had started to light up when I finally made it back. Isabella's horse was in its box, and Cid was waiting outside of his, so I put him in it and crept up to my chambers stealthily, slipped out of my dirty, now soiled robe and slippers, and slipped in between the sheets. I think I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillows.

 _July 21th 1818_

The last few days I have been very paranoid, for I suspect Isabella to jump out from every corner, questioning me about Cid's midnight stroll. I know she suspects me, I see it whenever she casts a glance and our eyes meet. There is this sort of contained smugness about her, like she wants me to ask her where she goes each night. For since my little escapade, she has been out every night. I know, for I keep awake and see her leave at midnight, some nights she is back earlier, some nights she is back later. I do not know what to make of what I saw the other night. It seems like the rendezvous was not a planned one, for the bandido surely seemed surprised to stumble upon her. I suspect she wanted his attention and that is why she pulled that stunt. Then the logical explanation would be that she has some sort of amorous attachment to him, and that is the reason she ventures out during the nights, to see if she can catch him while he rides back from God knows where, to have a few forbidden moments with him, until the shadows of the night are pulled back from the sunrise. Another theory, and a less likely one, is that she is luring the outlaw out, to set a trap and to have him captured, but I find that highly unlikely, she is swooning over him, like all the other young ladies of the area. The third, and most unlikely theory is that my stepsister has gone fully mad, and that she has actually fallen in love with the outlaw, or that she has some crazy obsession over him. Either way, what she is doing is very dangerous and today I went to señor Fonseca to tell him about what his daughter is up to. I was not prepared for the brutal scolding he gave me. Apparently I had insulted his daughter in suggesting that she got together with an outlaw in private, even if he were as honorable as Zorro (not señor Fonseca too!), I should not go around starting such distasteful gossip. I could do nothing, for unless señor Fonseca saw with his own eyes how his daughter rides out each night, he will not believe me.

Apparently Guadalupe overheard señor Fonseca's raised voice, for after, she causally consoled me. She told me that a man in señor Fonseca's position could find himself very stressed sometimes and that he did not mean to raise his voice as he did, that he actually was a rather good man. I asked Guadalupe why Don Rodrigo would not believe me. Guadalupe said that a person's love for someone can sometimes make them blind to their mistakes, I found truth in that statement, for that had been my case with Victor. She proceeded to tell me that if I really cared for Isabella, and did not do it just to get her in trouble, then I should go directly to her and speak with her. I only nodded and said nothing. I think one part of me wants to see perfect Isabella get the scolding of her life, to bring her down to my level, which is beyond petty at this point. Yet another, tiny part of me, a growing part at this rate, is actually worried. It is not safe to be riding out with so many dangers lurking in the night. So I did what Guadalupe suggested and actually went and spoke to my stepsister. And I told her everything, how I had followed her the second night of discovering her escapades, of how the second time I followed her I had seen her with the outlaw and that if she continued I would have to report her to the authorities.

At first she said nothing, then she coldly confessed that she suspected I might have gone after her when she saw Cid, and she laughed when she told me of how she and Zorro had followed me closely as I had walked back home, because the bandit did not want me to do it alone, in case anything should happen to me. It was admirable how she tried to depict the bandit as honorable, of course I did not believe her little lie. I simply asked her if she had met up with him more, and she said that she had not. I could do nothing else but believe her words, for they seemed sincere. I asked her that for her own good, she should not ride out more, because it was dangerous. She gave me a cold, halfhearted promise, if I promised her not to go prying in her business anymore, the same cold and halfhearted way. Then she walked away, as cold as before. I think that she will not treat me the same as she used to until I state, in the center of the pueblo's plaza, that Zorro is the best thing that has happened to human kind since the wheel and that I was wrong about him.

 _July 25_ _th_ _1818_

Today the de la Vega's came for dinner, for it was our turn to host it. Two other esteemed families came as well, Don Nacho Torres, his daughter and wife and señor Cortazar and his daughter Margarita. It was a lively dinner, and though Elena Torres and Margarita Cortazar were avid Zorro supporters, they did not seem to have a distaste for me, especially Margarita. She is a lovely young woman and not quick at all to judge. She and I got along at the start of the evening and as the night proceeded and we all found ourselves on the patio, drinking wine, listening to the songs being played and sung, and danced, we laughed. Somewhere after a song, Don Rodrigo asked us all for our attention, for he had something to announce. We all went quiet, and waited patiently as he motioned for Isabella to step forward, she seemed like she was trying to contain some hidden emotion for her face was void of any emotion, almost stern. It was then that señor Fonseca announced the engagement of his daughter and Don Diego. I felt my stomach tie itself into a tight knot and time seemed to go slower as people around rejoiced and started clapping. I felt my hands move on their own accord as I clapped as well. What was that feeling? It was not a positive one, I should have been happy for them both, for they seemed perfect for each other. Isabell's face was as neutral as it had been before. Don Diego smiled, but it was not his usual smile, it seemed wider now, maybe he was extra happy to be able to wed such a beautiful woman. As the night continued I found that I could not go on as I had before, there was a definite change in my mood.

When all the guests had left and the hacienda was finally asleep, in the wee hours of the morning, I took Cid, saddled him and rode out into the night. The fresh air helped clear my head and I tried to make sense of what I was feeling. I think it is that jealousy again, in the sense that I am jealous that Isabella will have a happy life with a perfect man while I am here, cast aside and unwanted. The thought I pondered upon the most as Cid stretched his legs on the open landscape before him was that I cannot have growing feelings for Don Diego, I will not allow that, for I will not have my heart broken again.

 **A/N: I thank you for reading this chapter and remind you kindly that a review can never go wrong. I am always keen on positive criticism, so that I may improve my writing in general. Thanks again!**


	5. August I 1818

_August 1_ _st_ _1818_

I am still unable to wrap my head around these last few months. I have always thought Isabella a rather annoyingly perfect young woman, and now I do not know what to think. It is as if she has changed to this completely different person. I have caught her riding out almost every night since the evening her engagement to Don Diego was announced. I think she suffers. She puts on a brave face of indifference, it is clear to me that she wants to fulfill her father's wishes and seem happy about her engagement. But it is so painfully clear that she does not love the man. Don Diego has been visiting most days now to court her, and whenever he is around, Isabella seems to enjoy his company, but as soon as he leaves it is as if she takes off her mask of false pretenses and let her true feelings show.

Don Diego, on the other hand, does not seem to notice Isabella's varying behavior, instead, he seems to really enjoy her company. It is slightly unnerving to want to go down to the gardens and find the two of them sitting there, having some refreshments and hearing Don Diego complementing Isabella. Sometimes he brings Bernardo and a duo of guitars to serenade my stepsister. She is a lucky woman to wed such a man, someone that genuinely cares for her and who wants to shower her in appreciation.

I find that I try to keep busy these days, because I do not want to stop and think. When I am alone with my thoughts I find myself overpowered by this unexplainable feeling of sadness and loneliness. So I mostly take longer rides on Cid now, after having left me to fend for myself the other night we seem to have connected and he seems to have accepted me as his owner. I feel free when I ride him through the open grounds near the house. I never ride far from the hacienda though, it is always in my line of sight. The bandits that escaped all those weeks ago have yet to be captured and I take every precaution I am able to.

I have also gotten closer with señorita Cotazar. She invited me a few days ago to her hacienda for luncheon. A few other señoritas of the pueblo where attending as well. I got to know them better. Some faces were already familiar, such as Elena Torres or Moneta Esperón. Moneta was still rather distant whenever we spoke, but as the conversation got livelier and the wine flowed, she seemed to relax around me and whatever spite she might have, it was forgotten that moment and we went back to being as close as we had before. I think that we both realized that whatever our differences, we can still get along. We agreed that we do not speak about anything related to Zorro and that is how we believe we can keep our friendship intact. It made me immensely happy for I truly appreciate her friendship. Margarita Cotazar is also another young woman I admire greatly, for she is so graceful and gentle in her ways. She reminds me of the older sister I never had and there is always this protective presence whenever I am around her, as if she does not want me to get hurt. Elena Torres does not speak much, she seems rather shy actually, so therefor I have yet to get to know her better. The other lady present was Rosarita Cortez, a woman with a high pitched voice who rarely spoke to me, it might be because of my infamous views on Zorro, who I later found out was apparently her hero and savior.

As we were sitting in the patio this evening at the Cotazar hacienda, enjoying cold refreshments and speaking about all and nothing there was a mention of the new comandante that would soon be arriving to the town in the coming week. The women seemed quite worried about the new commanding officer that would be in charge of the town and the cuartel. I wondered at their worries when I remembered how Don Diego had mentioned about the previous tyrants in position of power and how they had oppressed the people. I joined in on the conversation, politics has never been my forte but it was indeed interesting to talk about how this new man was to clean up this sleepy little pueblo. Elena Torres said she had been praying for weeks that the new comandante would be a good man, she said she could not handle another corrupt one, like Monastario. I did not bother to ask who this Monastario was, the look in her eyes as she spoke about him told me everything I had to know about the man. Margarita consoled the younger woman and said that they would not send someone like that anymore, Los Angeles had to be getting famous for receiving all the corrupt officers and government officials, so it would only be natural that the governor and even the Vice Roy saw to it that it did not happen anymore. Rosarita rose her chin and exclaimed that as long as we had Zorro to look out for us, we would pull through, as the pueblo had managed to do ever since he showed up to save Don Nacho Torres. Her eyes locked with mine defiantly, as if challenging me to say something. I noticed that Moneta was looking at me as well, a bit more discreetly. Although extremely hard, I did manage to keep my mouth shut for the rest of the conversation. However, señorita Cotazar noticed the rising tension from my part and proceeded to change the subject quickly. If the woman was not stranded in this backwards town I am sure she would have made the perfect wife of a diplomat, or if they allowed it, she could have made an amazing diplomat herself.

When the sky started turning orange as the sun sunk lower, I decided it was time to go home, I do not like being out when it is dark, not after what has happened earlier this summer. Guadalupe was waiting by the small buggy together with one of our vaqueros, who accompanied me most places for added protection. The stifling heat that had been present all day settled down and the gentle breeze caressed me as we went home.

 _August 3_ _rd_ _1818_

Today, against my goodwill, the whole family was going into the pueblo. Mother wanted me to venture out of the house while Isabella and señor Fonseca had unknown agendas of their own.

The new comandante arrived yesterday, three days earlier than expected. I suspect that the whole family is interested in seeing the new commanding officer of the garrison. So Guadalupe and some other servants came with us in the larger carriage and we were off to Los Angeles. The heat was unbearable, stifling and choking. I felt trapped in my bright green dress. In Boston we had always had the breeze of the sea, but here it barely came close. The harbor was too far away for the winds of the ocean to caress us with their cooling touch.

It was an hour or so to mid-day and as soon as the carriage had stopped señor Fonseca headed off in one direction, to the Mayor's office, while Isabella, accompanied by her chamber maid, headed toward the stalls and boutiques. I might have some sort of spite for my new sister, but it broke my heart to see her face in a stiff, emotionless mask when she spotted Don Diego. He saw us in an instant and walked over with a smile on his face. I felt my face change as well, I forced a smile toward the young man and his manservant as they closed in on us, and so did Isabella. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the ever watchful eyes of Guadalupe. She had been very quiet these past few weeks, and only taken to observing me patiently, as if she were waiting for something.

Isabella, mother, I and our servants greeted the californianos before us and straight away Isabella asked if Don Diego had met the new comandante yet. Apparently he had seen him earlier this morning, and as we were talking about him I saw a soldier come out of the garrison. But he wasn't one of the short, unkempt men that I, unfortunately, had gotten used to. This man was tall, with proud bearing, he sported a decorated soldier's uniform and pristine, white pants, with black boots that went all the way up to his knee. When his and Don Diego's eyes locked, they both did a small bow to one another and the soldier continued walking. From a distance I saw that he was handsome, not in the same way as Don Diego, he looked rougher. As he neared us I saw a scar stretch diagonally over his eyebrow. Some of his dark hair had fallen into his face and he sported a well-trimmed goatee.

"Comandante, we were just talking about you." Don Diego said merrily. Now that both men stood next to one another I still had a hard time believing that two such handsome men would be wasted in a pueblo like this. No doubt that if they came to Boston, the girls would be clawing at one another for their attention. The comandante, who had yet to speak, had piercing green eyes and even though he was not as tall as Don Diego, he seemed to tower over the rest of us women. I remember well the conversation we had this morning with the man. And I remember well how Isabella could not take her eyes off him.

"Allow me, ladies, to present you the new comandante of Los Angeles, Carlos Sanchez Aceves." He took each of our hands and had his lips gently touch the back of them, but not enough to be impertinent. When he spoke, his voice was not smooth, or suave, like Don Diego's, it was rough and commanding. I must say that if they had sent a man such as him to command the garrison, I think I can rest at last, and not worry for my or my family's safety anymore. He spoke a bit more with us and any attempt at flattery, were it from my mother or Isabella, he just ignored. I liked what I saw in him, he was a man that gets straight to the point of things. It was not long before we came to the subject of Zorro and I felt my stomach clench, for if he did not speak out against the bandit then I did not know who could stop him. But to my pleasant surprise, and to the other ladies' dismay, he expressed an urge to bring the outlaw in as quickly as possible, he said that if Zorro really represented justice then he would not mind standing in front of a judge himself. Isabella went quickly to the outlaw's defense, but the man did not budge. Then his piercing eyes bore into me, and he asked me if I had been the one sending letters to the governor and the Vice Roy. I got some surprised stares from the others in the group and I could only confirm his statements. For the first time I saw the man smile, and as he did so, his whole face softened. He asked me if I would be able to tell him all I knew about Zorro from my previous encounters with the outlaw, and I said of course. Isabella was fighting hard to keep her composure, mother looked at me disappointedly as well while Don Diego managed to have an amused and boring look at his face at the same time.

I thus agreed to meet Captain Aceves in his office tomorrow. Isabella sent me a sour look the whole time and so her mask had fallen. But no one noticed.

We met up señor Fonseca at the carriage, he seemed flustered, nervous even. When mother asked what was wrong he did not say anything. It was strange, the way he behaved. Lately I have noticed how señor Fonseca has not been himself. It started ever since we arrived actually. He always seems to look over his shoulder, he always has strange men over to the hacienda and then there was that bandit attack. I wonder if it might have been planned. Maybe he owes some people money. That would explain why he is trying to rush this wedding so. When we went back this afternoon the only one who spoke in the stuffed carriage was mother and I. Isabella looked out the window, while señor Fonseca was going over some papers.

 _August 4_ _th_ _1818_

Guadalupe and I took the buggy with one of the stablemen early, the whole night I've been looking through entries of this diary and taken notes of my encounters with Zorro. The latest ones, where he was seen with Isabella, I have kept aside, and decided to use them later if it becomes necessary. Isabella could encounter trouble if it became known that she consorted with a known outlaw.

Yesterday night, when all had gone to sleep I took the liberty of looking through señor Fonseca's ledges. His fortune has been dwindling in a steady pace ever since before he married mother. He has made some impressive payments to an unknown source that is not mentioned in the ledger, only listed as a number; 14. Even if I have not found out much more than that my stepfather is indebted to some unknown party, I know at least this number now.

As we walked through the gates of the garrison we were greeted by Seargeant Garcia, who was being followed by the same sleepy-eyed Corporal I had seen him hang out with earlier. The Sergeant looked tired but there was something different about him. His uniform seemed cleaner, more polished, his stubble was, if possible, finely trimmed and so was his moustache. The Corporal looked more pristine too, it seems as if the new commanding officer is really taking over and setting higher standards for the garrison.

I walked in alone and sat down with Captain Aceves, who immediately jumped to the questioning. I provided him with the notes I had made from my first encounter with the outlaw and the man seemed grateful for them, but he could not help to remark that had it not been for Zorro, I would most likely have perished, or at least lost my honor. At this point I only nodded sternly and did not speak against it, for I have learned through these past few months not to speak against that one incident as Zorro might indeed have saved me, but that would not change him in my eyes. The questioning by itself was over quickly and before I left I asked the Captain about the number combination. He took one glance at it and his eyes widened for a moment. The number had no doubt affected him and he only asked me where I had gotten it from, when I would not say he only dismissed it and said that he did not know where it came from. He showed me to the gates himself and bid me and my party farewell.

We left for home at high noon and midway toward the hacienda we saw thick black clouds of smoke rise to the sky. Guadalupe and the stableman feared that one of the ranchero's cottages might have caught fire in the extreme heat. I urged them to go there and see if we could help. We wasted no time and the small buggy seemed to fly over the dry Californian grass as I held on for dear life. We were there in a matter of minutes. A small building was almost engulfed in flames and several people were trying to put it out to no use. It was contained as the soil around it had been wetted by the many buckets of water poured over it. We descended from the buggy and asked to help. We started filling buckets and poured water over the small building. Suddenly I heard screams from inside the house and saw in shock two people trapped amongst the flames. I closed in on them and screamed for their attention, they did not see nor hear me through the smoke and cracking flames. The other few people were busy trying to keep the flames in check and payed no heed to the screaming American who was frantically pointing toward the two people in there.

I was desperate and ran around yelling about the two people trapped inside, and when I had finally managed to get the attention of the people around me Zorro himself emerged out of nowhere on his black stallion in pure daylight and headed straight for the fire. I could only stare in chock as the horse and rider disappeared amongst the yellow and red flames. The other's stared as well and we all held our breaths trying to subdue the firestorm as the minutes went by. The foundations of the house started breaking down and still no rider emerged.

There was a loud crashing sound and just as the house started collapsing the great black horse jumped through a big enough hole so that he might not be licked by the flames. The horse carried his rider and two small children who coughed and cried of joy as they had survived the ordeal. Zorro was coughing widely but grinning even wider. We all heard the cracks as the wood of the house succumbed to the great flames and broke down in a violent heap. Had the masked man been a minute more he would have burned to death and I felt my eyes wander to him and could not begin to question the pure madness or the pure bravery of such a man. He kept smiling as he helped the awestruck boys off his horse. As they were off his eyes met mine and a second seemed like an eternity. They bore into mine and it seemed like he was questioning me, as if asking "do you still believe me to be an outlaw now?" I do not know how long we stayed that way but Guadalupe's call made me break the intense connection we had held and I looked away for a second.

The bandit took no chances in staying too long and urged his horse into a gallop, but not after seeing to that the boys found their mother and father who were crying of joy, exhaustion and sadness at having their boys but also at having lost their house. The black, scorched cape fluttered in the wind as the dark horse and his rider set off.

When I turned back and started making my way to the carriage, Guadalupe's eyes bore into mine. She did not say a word, as she usually does not do and all the way back home was silent while I tried to clear as much soot from my ruined clothes as possible. All the while a feeling swept over me and settled in my stomach. It was like an omen almost and I remembered feeling extremely uneasy, I must have paled too for Guadalupe put her dark, steady hand on my shoulder with a questioning glance. What I had just witnessed earlier made no sense to me. For an outlaw was a man who worked against the law and order of society, not a man who helped those in need or jumped recklessly into the scorching flames of a large fire, risking his life to save others.

When we walked into the house mother nearly fainted as she saw me covered in black soot and stinking of smoke. Before my mother could stop us in our tracks for my room, Guadalupe held up a hand and only said "bath" in a stern voice, while my mother only nodded, not daring to argue against the Indian woman. We ascended the stairs and I was whisked into my room while my dueña prepared all.

Guadalupe filled my bath and I discarded all modesty just wanting to get the filth away in the cool water, and perhaps my rising doubts as to Zorro. I undressed and let my naked body soak in the warm water that washed the dirt and tension away.

"You saw him today" Guadalupe said as she washed my hair. I did not know what she was referring to and so I asked her;

"What do you mean, that I saw Zorro?"

"Si."

"Then yes, I saw him. What of it Guadalupe?" I asked in shaky Spanish, I was comfortable talking to her in Spanish for I knew that her grammar and syntax were no better than mine.

"Today, you saw _him_ , not clouded judgment of Zorro, you saw real Zorro today." She rinsed my hair and I turned around to meet her black penetrating gaze. I was about to argue with her, I know I am a proud woman, but it amazes me that just by a look, Guadalupe knows that I am questioning my deepest beliefs when it comes to justice, law and order. Somehow, from the moment we stepped into the buggy and to where we were now, she had figured out that my conservative views of the famous bandit might start to have their strong foundations shaken.

"How did you know?" I simply asked, for that else could I have said? Should I have denied what was true, for Guadalupe would still have known.

"One moment, after he jumped out from fire and death, after he saved boys, you two looked into each other's eyes and saw truth." I do not think I knew what Guadalupe means by that so I only nodded. "Do not worry, you will know meaning one day." She simply said as she brought over a towel for me to dry myself with.

"But all change now, Zorro is a part of you as you are a part of him." She said.

"Just because I might question whether he is as horrible as I had made him out to be does not mean that I have found the fondness that so many other people seem to have for him. I only respect what I saw today, which was a man who selflessly jumped right into danger to save two innocent lives." Guadalupe said nothing for a while, only stared at me and smiled.

"All change now." She finally said and left me alone with my thoughts.

 **A/N: I am sorry for the two month delay. I have been quite busy with exams. Did I mention I was in college? Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, and if so, let me know! Cheers!**


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